#sunbeam cookie

[sammywolfgirl]

I have many thoughts about these guys

[ashuribbon]

Doing my own Drawtober challenge, where I make a Warrior Cats design with combined features from Cookie Run characters! :D

[ Reblogs > Likes /nm ] Support me on Patreon! | Kofi | Socials

[smallest-sunbeam]

Cookie Monster and indoor play area moodboard for @yellow-jellybean! 💙

[akftww]

HELLO BLASEBALL FANS OF TUMBLR :::

for this month only i WILL draw your blorbo an icon for 1 $10 blaseball cares gift card!!!!!

i will NOT draw your blorbo if they are very very detailed or a big robot or something.

so if you want a cool icon of your blorbo for pride month do consider. if not i would appreciate a bump.

I WILL ALSO DO FAN CHARACTERS!!!!!! ok that’s all bye :3

(dm me about it please :-))

[karlachismylife]

Local Spot || The Queen of the Clan pt.6

CW: fem!chubby!reader, some tame unwanted attention.

If not for man-made structures, you wouldn’t be able to tell the border between the territory of the natural reserve you got your filming permit for and the sanctuary that cuts off a smaller part of the landscape. Fenced off, it looks just the same – no surprise there, to be honest; sunlit tall grass, sandy and dusty ground and scattered trees, shielding the inhabitants with their shadow. No doubt, they have water sources too – everything in sanctuary’s power to tend to quite simple needs of animals that can’t be let out back into the wild after surviving each their own trauma. Driving past the tall mesh that makes sunbeams ripple when hitting your little Rover caravan, you try covering your eyes to look into the reserve, but no animals come close to the road, hidden securely somewhere deep in their new forever home.

“I hope you’re prepared to be blown away by the luxurious housing, we’re working our asses off to impress city cookies like you here.” With a distinct chuckle, Kir beckons you inside, holding a simple plywood door open for you and dropping your backpack from his shoulder on the porch of the little cabin – a whole line of them drags along a narrow road, animals’ enclosures basically on the other side of the “street”. Land too expensive, government too hesitant to “lose” everything it could provide by leaving it as untouched reserve; thus, someone had to make room for their neighbours, and humans decided to sacrifice their own comfort for the sake of the animals.

“Check this out,” Kir waits until you finish looking around the single room that serves as bedroom, living room, office – even a kitchen, if you can count the tiny portable stove and a kettle on a counter – and with a theatric gesture of a magician opens a narrow door, revealing the tiniest bathroom behind it: a toilet, a small sink hanging off a wall and just a cheap curtain to separate the shower area with a drain in  the floor. “Not bad, huh? No hot tub, but pretty close. Don’t recommend you putting candles and champagne there, though, if you even mange to find those around here somehow…” Laughing with you at the deeply impressed and amazed expression you feigned at the sight of your lavish bathroom, Kir raises a finger calling for your attention once more and then struggles with the sink tap for a moment, finally getting it to sneeze and run clean water. “Actually working plumbing. You feeling like a queen yet?”

“Grandiose, brother,” you snort and come closer to hold a handful under the stream, gathering slightly warm water and using it to wipe sweat from your face and neck. “But no, really, don’t think there’s much more I could need, so this is perfect. You’re my neighbour or what?”

“I’m just three cabins away, door’s always open for you.” Having closed the tap, Kir shuffles his way out of the cramped space and leaves your cabin, hands in his pockets. Remembering something, he turns on his heels and nods at your backpack. “Laundry’s in the main building, there are bags to separate yours, it’s all done together in the mornings so it’s best to leave yours in the evening. Oh, and I’ll ask around about something to get rid of the stink.”

With a dazzling grin and a wink, Kir salutes you and finally turns his back, returning to work and leaving you to sort through your belongings and settle in. If everything goes well, you’ll spend just a few days here before the head of your crew successfully prolongs the filming permit and you head out into the savannah once more. Having this bureaucratic delay doesn’t feel good, but in a weird way you feel relieved.

You don’t think you would be able to leave this place without a heavy heart if the shoot lasted just three weeks like planned initially.

Settling on the top step of your low porch, you pull your backpack closer and hold your breath instinctively, even though a week in the wild has somewhat tamed the stink. It’s not strong per se, but it has a stinging undertone of concentrated boiled soap, to the point where it almost tastes sweet on the back of your mouth roof. Scoffing, you pull your belongings out of it, throwing crinkled plastic bags onto the floor behind you.

Finally reaching the one with dirty laundry inside, you grab it along with the empty backpack itself and make your way all the way to the main building, quick to find the laundry room – just as tiny as everything else. You empty your crumpled laundry into a nice canvas bag and write down the slightly scraped off number on it to know which one to pick up later, and then drop off the backpack in the corner, only just noticing teeth marks on it in several places – a chewed up strap mostly.

Somehow you don’t even doubt it was all Stinky’s doing.

“Adorable bastard,” you grumble under your breath and nearly ram into Kir’s firm chest at the door, too distracted with thoughts of your spotted acquaintance trotting around somewhere in the yellowish grass of the savannah.

“You called?” He laughs watching you roll your eyes and squeezes past you with a pat on your shoulder, a spray bottle of some kind in his hands along with his own laundry. “It’s for your aromatherapy backpack. If you want, you can spray it yourself, I’ll finish my shift sooner and we’ll hit the town. Bet you didn’t get a good look around when you arrived, yeah?”

Only fair for you to deal with your stink problem yourself, Kir already went above and beyond to help you, so you take the spray from his hand and return to the corner to drag your backpack outside, humming in response.

“No, they picked us up pretty quickly… only saw the bus station basically.” You shake the rattling bottle and make a trial spray, high-pressure mist with another harsh, sweet smell – most similar to a mosquito repellent – bursting into the air. The sticker on the can reads as some water- and sweat-repellent for shoes. “Anything interesting to see?”

The spray hisses, covering your backpack in a generous cloud of chemical smell and slight plastic-y glint after it settles. From inside the laundry room Kir raises his voice, admitting that there’s basically nothing except a couple stores and a dingy bar that can be of interest – it’s still worth it, you decide: just fifteen minutes of scootering down a bumpy dirt road and you get to buy something to treat yourself after a week on canned food and maybe even get a drink.

“I’ll come knock on your door then after I finish, then.” Kir leaves the laundry room and catches the spray can you throw him – if your watering eyes and coughing are any indicators, you’ve applied more then enough. Hanging the backpack outside to let it air out the possibly deadly concoction of sweat repellent and hyena sprayings, you finally drag yourself to your cabin.

A cool shower and a little bit of gentle persuasion via banging on the kettle stand until the loose contact clicks and the heating starts, you settle on your porch with your thermos and breathe in deeply. Nothing disturbs you, the feeling of being watched forgotten like it wasn’t even there. Must have really been the savannah getting in your head..

Sun is slowly sliding to the west, still high, but already a bit dimmed and oranged by the incoming dusk. Dry, clear air is rippling and throbbing above the ground, cooling off, weak wind snaking through the dust of the little road. Crickets and cicadas are chirping repetitively, like an ancient ethnic instrument from the good old times when music had more rhythm than melody. From your steps, you can’t make out which direction the call comes from, but somewhere on the sanctuary’s territory roars a buffalo – must be that young bull Kir told you to be careful around.

Two of the sanctuary employees walk past you, dirty gloves and sweaty noses – they smile and nod at you, barely interrupting a lively discussion, something about water going green in one of the biggest water sources. That’s not good, you think, but they don’t look particularly worried. More like confident.

Like they know what they’re doing and why.

Closing your eyes, you take another deep breath and sip your tea, careful not to burn your mouth. Red and pink prints of the vascular system in your eyelids mix with the way you already saw sky go up in flames at sunsets here, a peaceful feeling washing over you. There’s serenity in the way life flows measuredly around here, clocks and calendars slowly growing meaningless in the face of greater time countdown – seasons and solar cycles dictating times to migrate, to hunt, to procreate. People here made the decision to tie their lives to the nature, preserving and studying, and thus their time obeys the same laws, no hectic anxiety of semesters, quarter reports and tight schedules keeping them in a never-ending race.

It’s a blessing – to do the right thing with a reasonable pace, day after day, knowing you have something meaningful to do every time you wake up. In the outside world no one thinks highly of someone digging elbow-deep into the green mud of a small pond antelopes come to drink from, but here it matters.

You’d like to matter.

“Thinking of me with that smile on your face, I hope?” Kir’s cheeky voice drives you out of the meditative headspace and you open your eyes lazily, wrinkling your nose at him – he even made sure to approach you in a way that wouldn’t obstruct the softened sunrays caressing your face.

“Yeah, you wish. We’re going already?” With a grunt, you raise to your feet with his assistance, noticing just how long you must’ve been sitting there, daydreaming. Kir nods and plops a helmet on your head, adjusting the strap under your chin.

“Shopping first, then the bar?” He leads you to the several scooters in sanctuary’s possession, rolling the most new-looking, sandy and just slightly scraped on the wings, on the road and helping you onto it. The machine dips under your combined weight, but Kir doesn’t seem concerned, starting up the engine and driving off the sanctuary territory.

Nearby town can barely pass as one, looking more like a glorified village – small buildings, no higher than three stories, basically a single curved street between them and continuing on to the bigger road. Finally seeing it in the daylight and without the exhaustion of a long trip that kept weighing your eyelids down when you first arrived there on a bus to be picked up by your crew, you find it just as charming – as well as noticing some larger signs of civilization a couple kilometers to the west, tall power transmission poles and antennas around some fenced off facility.

While you try to remember if there was something industrial mentioned when you read about the place you were going to, Kir drags you inside a cramped convenience store, literal mountains of fresh fruits, vegetables and nuts in crates at the entrance and the most random selection of imported goods on the shelves – in a moment of weakness, you pick up some suspiciously looking lime-flavoured crisps and a few cans of cold soda from a fridge that sounds like a fighter aircraft going down from a direct hit, but still manages to keep products inside cool and wet with the condensate.

You leave the store, chewing on some dried fruits Kir helped you choose – even got a discount from a familiar cashier that was happy to inform that they can place orders for some goods if you’re planning to stay longer. Behind your cheerfully polite smile you felt that same wave of belonging that keeps coming back to you.

“We’re a bit late, so all the tables are probably taken, do you mind sitting at the bar?” After you leave your groceries in the scooter trunk, Kir leads you up to the pub, its neon sign already glowing in the slowly approaching darkness, and holds the door open, nodding at the bar counter with just three free stools to your luck.

Keeping in mind that he has “precious cargo” to deliver back, as he calls you, he orders a coke for himself and pays for your cider, promising that it’s one of the things you can actually drink there.

“That’s my favourite, the pear one. When I come here on foot, always grab a bottle or two.” You lean onto the counter, feet dangling above the dirty wooded floor, as you chat with him – he indulges you in the town gossip with some additions from the bartender, making you chuckle as the cider tickles the roof of your mouth. It’s actually good, you admit, and Kir buys you another one before leaving to the bathroom “to see if they have another spider infestation”, which earns him a shoulder slap from the bartender.

When you turn to watch him make way through packed room, you feel your heart stop for a moment, like a prey that finally notices it’s being watched. It’s a fleeting sensation that almost immediately disappears, but you almost hit yourself in the teeth with the bottle neck, once you notice them.

Four men in the furthest corner, staring at you openly – they’re not trying to be discreet, the bearded one saluting you with his whiskey tumbler and two of his buddies flashing you smiles. Friendly smiles, not the ones that make your skin crawl in similar bar encounters back in the big city. Even the one with his face covered by a mask and arms crossed over his bulky chest nods at you and sinks further in his seat, as if it could help him look smaller and less threatening. They seem chill, clearly minding their own business and avoiding the other patrons in that corner, not interested in the rowdy fun of a work day evening among tired people unwinding before heading home.

To fight that initial creeped out feeling, you nod back at them, quickly averting your gaze with a chuckle once you see them light up almost too obviously. Must’ve been ogling you for quite some time, if the smallest acknowledgement gets you such a reaction. It’s kinda sweet, their excitement radiating from the corner, and you watch from the corner of your eye them exchanging a few words before one of them has to force the big guy with a mohawk back into his seat, as if he was already ready to rush through the bar to talk to you.

“I go away for five minutes, and you’re already making eyes at someone?” Your eyes shoot up to see smiling Kir, but as you watch his expression change once he glances over his shoulder at your four watchers, your brows knit together. “Oh, no, cookie, you stay away from that folk, alright? Come on, let’s go, before they come up here.”

Before you even can object, Kir tugs on your elbow insistently, and you have no choice but to grab your almost finished bottle, say a hasty goodbye to the bartender and follow him, stumbling from the sheer force he drags you with, clearly in hurry to get out of the tightly packed bar.

“Hey, can you at least explain? I’m coming, don’t need to drag me, you know,” you try to keep your irritation down. After all, he has done nothing but look out for you, and if there’s anyone you can trust to know all locals, it’s him. Still, you steal a glance at the four-men company and get the unsettling feeling once again, this time not without a reason: the concentrated, slightly frowning looks all four of the men watch you leave with, don’t feel as friendly anymore.

It's only outside, once the night breeze strokes your heated from the alcohol and crowd proximity cheeks, that Kir lets go of your arm and sighs, putting the helmet on you. His voice sounds hushed, and he looks you dead in the eyes, as he says:

“Don’t mess with them, don’t even talk to them, okay? No one wants them here, they’re not locals. The less business we have with them, the better, especially since you’re here just temporarily. I don’t trust them, and you shouldn’t either. Can you promise?”

By the way you look at him, utterly confused, Kir finally realizes how paranoid he sounds and runs a hand over his face, before looking around and leaning to your ear to say even quieter:

“They’ve been roaming around for months already, cookie. They’re military. They’re bad news from the West.”

Suddenly, you realize what that fenced off facility you saw earlier was. A military base.

Just twenty minutes away from the natural reserve.

Part 5 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Tagging: @elaineiswithyou-blog @creepingeva @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sillymanjaro @ihatethinkingofnames10 @ravensfeatheruniverse @yaminax @ljh861 @darkangel4121 @ginger-n-coco @grey-shadow6475 @cryingpages @mothsdrabbles @mc-glare-is-king @vixxie22 @aldis-nuts @terraantarctica @henhouse-horrors @blizzivy @perfectus-in-morte @danielle143 @llavalada @yukichan67 @sleepisfortheweakpooh @ilxina @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @misscaller06 @etherealinthewoods

[minminyoonjii]

Tea Party

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🧡Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist

🌹CW

Wholesome|Hurt/Comfort|Anxiety Attack|Brief Dissociation|Semi Regression|Feeling Numb|Coaxing Out Of Dissociation 💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1K

"Hhgh," you whined, stretching your sore limbs from a well-rested sleep. You sat up, rubbing your eyes awake before blindly patting around to get your phone. The bright light made you squint, "Ugh," you groaned, waiting for the auto brightness to adjust. There were a few hours before lunch but you already felt energized enough to do something. "There must be something I can do," you mumbled, pondering for a second when you realized your beloved plush wasn't in bed. 

You instantly looked around, only to see it lying face down on the floor. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you picked it up, "I'm so sorry," you mumbled, burying your face into it. You sighed in relief, feeding the plush of your warmth. 'Want a tea party,' a thought deep within your subconscious whispered. "Yeah, that sounds fun," you whispered aloud, crawling off your bed to get everything set up. You pulled a box from under your bed and inside it was a kid's play set, just perfect for a little one like you. 

"This goes here," you mumbled, arranging the chairs and table to your heart's desire. Soon the tea party was about to begin, but something was missing. You furrowed your eyebrows, checking off everything you needed, 'Guests? checked,' all your toys are in place. 'Food? checked,' there are cookies on the table. 'Tea? Oh!' That's right you were missing the tea. It can't be a tea party without tea now can it? You got up from the table, holding the teapot to fill it with water, "I have to be quick," you whispered, making your way to the kitchen. 

You didn't bother to lift your head, prioritizing your quiet feet instead. To say the least, you got scared when you bumped into someone. "Oh, sunbeam. What are you doing this early?" Felix asked, ruffling your bed hair. You straightened up, clearing your throat, "Water. I just wanted water," you said, hoping he wouldn't pick up on your nervousness. "In that?" Felix questioned, noticing the teapot in your hand. You nodded, "Yeah, yeah. In this," you said, pressing it against the water filter to fill it up. 

Felix hummed, "You're not hiding a tea party from me right? Because I'd love to join," he said, drinking his morning coffee. You bit down on your tongue, holding yourself back from spontaneously saying yes, "Would you actually?" you asked offhandedly, just in case he was jesting. Felix nodded, "Of course, I would sunbeam. Wouldn't miss it for the world," he reassured, remaining eye contact with you. "Fine, but you can't be too loud, this is a quiet tea party," you mumbled, walking back to your room. 

"Wow, you did a great job, sunbeam," he said, sitting next to your plush toys as you sat across from him. You began pouring 'tea' into every single cup, "The tea party can begin," you whispered, proud of your work. Felix chuckled, moving his hand behind one of your plushies, "Mm, this tea is just right," he said in a high-pitched voice. You smiled, "Try the cookies too," you said, handing the plush some cookies. Felix tilted the plush's head down, "Yummy, that was delicious," he said, making you burst out into giggles.

You felt yourself sink into that familiar headspace, pleased by the company of your plush toys and members. Felix noticed the glint in your eyes changed, "Are you feeling alright, sunbeam?" he asked, holding up his teacup so you wouldn't be startled by his question. "Ahm, is alright," you whispered, swaying yourself with a cookie in hand. Felix chuckled, reaching behind another plush, "Well I have to say, this tea party is the most fun I've had," he said, using his deeper voice. 

"That's good," you replied, feeling your heart swell in pride. Felix cooed, secretly snapping a few pictures of your blissful state. All was good until you perked up at the sound of someone closing the door outside. Your smile dropped as your heart sank. You sat the teacup down, eyes wavering to think of what to do next. 'Should I keep everything?' 'Should I stop?' 'Is it safe to play a little longer?' you thought, trying to make a quick decision but it only resulted in your breathing picking up in a panic.

Felix's eyes widened, "Hey, hey. Look at me, sunbeam. How many things can you see, hm?" he asked, cautious of touching you. "Too many," you whispered, seeing too many things. Felix winced at his mistake, "Why don't you list at least five of those things for me?" he asked, specifying the question. You furrowed your eyebrows, “A teacup, cookies, my hands, the teacup dish and the plushies," you said, feeling your heart rate slow down. "That's right. Good job, sunbeam," he praised, gently patting your head.

You exhaled deeply, frowning as the numbness crept up your skin. Felix noticed but he didn't know what to do next. You felt yourself zoning out, staring blankly at the teacup in front of you. Felix wanted to help but honestly, it was making him spiral, "I'm going to go get someone okay, sunbeam?" he said, getting up. You nodded, dipping your finger into the chilling water. Felix huffed, dragging Minho in without an explanation. Just as Minho was about to retort, Felix turned his attention towards you.

Minho eyed your movement for a bit before knowing what was wrong. He didn't say a word, only gesturing for Felix to sit back down. Minho sat next to you, holding a teacup of his own behind clinking it with yours. You furrowed your eyebrows at the disturbance but wavered when you noticed Minho next to you. He smiled, gradually initiating movements from you, either by pouring you another cup of tea or making you take a bit of the cookies. Minho slowly eased you out of that dissociative episode.

You soon found yourself consciously doing this again, shivering as the chill numbness wore off. Felix smiled, glad that you're back to playing and interacting again. Minho chuckled, grabbing his own Leebit to join the tea party as well. Felix eventually sent the photos to the members and it didn't take long for his phone to buzz with notifications. He chuckled, teasing the members for being out of the house. Minho pinched Felix's ear lobe, "Stop that before they rush back home and break down the door," he whispered with you being none the wiser. 

[ivys-garden]

Here's a clearer version of the Hermit Falls Zodiac (+ the og Journal Page)

Here's everyone's roles in the au:

Sunbeam & Cresent Moon: Grian & Pearl (Dipper & Mabel) - twins of divorced parents who were sent to a Nowhere town for autumn break to reconnect after being separated. Currently living with their great uncle Scar. When Grian finds a strange journal in the woods he and Pearl become obsessed with uncovering the secrets of this town. Ps, Tilly is Waddles :3

Top Hat: Scar (Stan) - the twins Grunkle and the proprietor of Trader Scars: The House Of Wonders!, a local tourist trap. He seems to spend a lot of time in the basement.

Lowercase i: Impulse (Soos) - local handyman at Trader Scars, father figure for the twins.

Cool S: Skizz (Wendy) - cashier at Trader Scars, generally laid back but will deck you if you hurt his friends

Rocket Ship: Cub (Ford) - genius scientist who lived in Hermit Falls decades ago, Scar says he jumped towns and left the Trader Scars building to him, but no one's heard from him since

Fancy Mustache: Mumbo (McGucket) - local mad inventor living in the junkyard. Insists his name is "Big Ron" Cub always looked guilty when he saw him…

Gemstone: Gem (Pacifica) - daughter of a rich family staying in Hermit Falls on a business trip. gets bored and decides to have a rivalry with Pearl. Just cuz

Old Skull: Cleo (Robbie) - local artist and mortician. Sorta tried to kill Pearl on her first week in Hermit Falls. Tensions were high between them and Grian after that

@ Symbol: Joe Hills (Gidion) - owner of a rival tourist trap: Joe Hills’ Tent O’ Magic, where he puts on dazzling acts of poetry, music, Puppet shows and magic tricks. Everyone seems to like him, but Scar doesn't trust him

Joel (Bill) - interdimensional Demon watching over Gravity Falls. Burt his home dimension to the ground. Still hears her his friends in the back of his mind. Why did he do it?

Will I continue this? Maybe? I'm busy atm but I like the concept. I've sketched some designs but nothing I'm super happy with so far.

Ps If any of yall can come up with a surname that fits Pearl, Grian & Scar (maybe Cub two not devided if him and Scar are brothers yet) that would be cool ;)

Also, well done to @harley-the-pancake & @octopus-defence-squad at correctly decoding almost everything! I'd give you cookies if I could

[xoxochb]

— rainbows, sunshine and everything nice!

warnings: none just headcannons pairing: percy jackson x daughter of iris

୨୧ okay, okay, okay, let’s start this thing with simple dating headcannons because I don’t wanna yap with all that pre relationship shit 😣

୨୧ iris kids are great painters, or anything art related really. you find yourself most days basking in the suns warmth with a new canvas in your lap

୨୧ and percy doesn’t care much for painting but when he found out you loved painting his opinion entirely changed

୨୧ when he finds himself with free time he’ll join you in your artsy activities

୨୧ sometimes you offer him a canvas so he can paint alongside you but after once when you did this and he dropped all your paint you restricted him from painting furthermore

୨୧ if you didn’t though, he would’ve done so himself anyways, which is why he’s happy to just watch you paint— the sun illuminating your irises perfectly (get it?), your hair falling in front of your face (that he takes upon himself to tuck behind your ears), your content resting face, this is much much better than painting

୨୧ and not just painting you’re good at but also baking and singing!!

୨୧ to start off, baking

୨୧ we all know percy loves to bake so he was extremely happy to find out you loved it as much as you did

୨୧ he was not happy, however, to find you didn’t dye everything blue, so he took it upon himself to introduce you to the wonders of blue food dyed sweets

୨୧ and also!! when you’re not at camp you go back to ny with him and help sally bake her famous blue cookies (when he sees how well you get along with her he makes a promise to himself to for sure marry you one day not for just his sake but for his mothers also. she definitely wouldn’t accept anything less)

୨୧ and anyways: singing

୨୧ percy LOVES literally absolutely adores when you sing, especially when he’s on the verge of sleep and your hands carding softly through his hair and your calm, sweet-like-honey voice singing, it literally lulls him right to sleep

୨୧ this warms my heart up so much, actually. he’s such an absolute sucker for your singing, it’s almost kind of pathetic

୨୧ and omg hear me out: iris kids with synesthesia

୨୧ I should’ve mentioned this before with the baking section but, like, imagine tasting fucking colors?? hello???

୨୧ percy literally had a field day with this, he asks you about every single color under the sun LMAO

୨୧ n e ways i just wanted to touch upon that real quick

୨୧ percy 100% nicknamed you something sun related

୨୧ like “sunbeam” or “sunny” or something cutesy like that (I need him don’t play with me rn)

୨୧ ALSO iris kids speaking horse???

୨୧ and we know percy can too so just imagine the convos you have

୨୧ like, omg omg listen to this, at first percy didn’t know you could and he’s talking to blackjack in front of you and the horse is all like “dude I know you like her” or something along those lines and percy is trying to shut him up for solely his sake

୨୧ but blackjack confirms he likes you and when a pink hue adorns your cheeks percy realizes you heard their whole conversation

୨୧ then you know one thing, another, confess, lovey dovey, you know the drill

୨୧ and that’s how percy and his lovely daughter of iris came to be <3

[nobodyfamousposts]

Hey I love your work. This idea keeps popping up in my head involving your doll au. I know in your posts for this au marinette still become guardian and let's say a situation causes a scene similar to the beginning of gang of secrets. Girl squad comes over, confess her secret, starts to look through her room. But instead of almost finding the box, they find Chatton drawing behind a pillow. I imagine 5 one-shots of the each girl babysitting him. Or did I just create the origin of reluctant dark l

Chaton was having a good day!

He got to rest in Mister Sunbeam. But he wasn't sleepy. Instead he was working! He was being artsy, just like Mama!

Chaton had a big piece of paper and his own cray-eons to draw with! And he was drawing all sorts of things!

He was drawing Mama! And Mama as a hero! The best hero! Spotty Mama with a cape and staff!

And he was drawing Pinkling and Greenie and Grand Pa Fu! And the Box! And the Friends Inside!

And Untie! And cookies! And kitties!

Hmm….he was running out of space on the paper.

But he had more paper to draw even more things on! Yay!

He thought it over and was debating whether to draw an alien or a unicorn.

…..he couldn't make up his mind, so he decided to do both and draw a space unicorn!

And he delivers rainbows and smiles!

And he shoots marshmallows with his laser!

Chaton got really into his drawing that he stopped paying attention to the sounds of the bakery below.

Even when those sounds started getting louder.

Alya, for her part, wasn't having that good of a day. But it was going to improve now that she had a plan to talk to her best friend. And she was going to ge some answers, mark her words!

"Okay, we'll talk to Marinette and get her to tell us the truth so we can help her!" Alya explained the plan with the other girls in tow.

Alix frowned, uncertain. "Maybe we should let her talk to us in her own time?"

Alya rolled her eyes. "I am not going to stand by when my girl is hiding secrets!"

And not wasting any time, she shoved open the door to Marinette's room.

"Marinette! We've come for the truth!" She announced.

Silence.

Nothing but silence and an empty room.

Empty and silent.

Except for the sounds of scratching on paper.

And Marinette's Chat Noir doll in the middle of her room. Whom was clearly the one drawing on the paper. And looking quite happy with himself.

The girls stared.

Chaton finally took notice of the intrusion and turned to the ones responsible.

They gaped at him.

Chaton stared back, a bit surprised. People? Who were these people? Why were they there? What were they doing there?

Then he realized that there WERE people there and remembered that he was supposed to not be caughted.

Chaton flopped back onto the ground, pretending to be a regular toy and hoping they didn't see him.

Alya stared in disbelief.

"No, don't try pretending now. We saw you." She told him.

No, they didn't. Chaton insisted.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Give arrancar a cookie AU, Uloquirra is a favourite because boy is helpful, quiet, and stays out the way via being a bat. Just hanging around, not making trouble for his mother. Sure he has emo tendencies but all teenagers go through that don't they? Stark is a favourite because he is a sleepy baby who causes absolutely no problems for his mother like ever. Just find him a good nap spot or a sunbeam and Ichigo can rest easy. Nel is a favourite because she's Nel and thus precious, adorable, and just an absolute sweetheart. Kisuke's favourites are all gremlins. Though both Kisuke and his troublemakers are jealous of mama's favourites for the attentions and headpats they regularly receive. I can also see Ichigo putting them in a kido barrier timeout and all the arrancar doing that meme...you know that one, "we cannot escape, we cannot get out,..... Mama!"

Ichigo totally had Kisuke make him a kido barrier time out space and Kisuke did it with absolute glee. Right up until the first time Ichigo punted Kisuke into it along with the naughty arrancar for being "a bad influence, you fuck".

[sammywolfgirl]

Okay so Stardust has been confirmed a super epic, so I’m gonna bring up a theory/headcanon I’m gonna use in my au

In the case of elementals, a super epic is just a legendary who hasn’t reached their full potential.

To use an oc as an example, Sunbeam would be a super epic while Sunlight is a legendary.

Stardust is a super epic and hasn’t reached his full potential yet, though frankly he’s going through some shit and figuring himself out, reaching his full power can wait and like valid man.

Sherbet is also in this bracket, he’s a super epic but has the potential to essentially become like frost queen in the future, like taking over her job if she retires or needs a second hand. Probably won’t happen for a while but again, the possibility is their.

Plus it means if in the future I’m feeling creative I can make legendary designs for those two which sounds fun.

Oh and this doesn’t apply to super epics who are just important people like oyster and clotted cream, sorry you’re just rich not demigods

[dadmareau]

awww sunbeam deserves a cookie, he’s so adorable :]

[berrybanana-arts]

“I would give you every hope back, do you know that? If I could, I’d fix us both a table for tea and we could sit under a sunbeam. And I’ll read you poetry and you could tell me- I do not chase happy, it chases me. I’ll feed you half of every cookie. Divide up life like- one for you and one for me.”- @inkskinned

Not one hundred percent happy with this one but I’m done with it for now :)

I hope you enjoy <3

[pirate-of-the-southern-isles]

Fanfic snippet - "How exactly do you work?"

Sun. Warm. Summer. He dreamed about this all his life. Maybe he could use some flowers and meadows… or a beach! He hoped that in Heticia, wherever it is, they will have a beach. He would love to just lay there, just like now, on a towel, with food, for a relaxing nap. The deck was hard and a sand was soft. Maybe…

“I have a question”.

Olaf opened his eyes. He might have drifted too far with his thoughts.

Hans was now towering over him, staring way too closely. Sunbeams were reflecting on his hair. It kinda looked like if his head was on fire.

“Oh. Yes?” Olaf wasn’t quite sure if he should get up and run to his queens. Or Kristoff. Or maybe Sven. But Hans didn’t seem to be threatening him. Alright, he had a little knife on his belt, but the snowman knew he couldn’t be hurt by it. He hoped Hans knew it, too.

“How exactly do you work?” Hans was still staring.

“Do you mean…?”

“You eat cookies, lay in a direct sunlight and yesterday I saw my deckhands throwing your head like a ball while you laugh. I understand you are magical but I would really like to know some more”.

“Oh.” None of those things Olaf considered weird. In fact, he thought about them as as obvious as the fact that the sky is blue. “I mean… you eat, too”.

“Yes, but my head doesn’t come off from my shoulders and if it would, I would be really displeased. And I have a stomach.” He patted his belly. “I need food so I can digest it and have energy for… well, living. If I won’t eat, I die. Can you starve to death? Can you die at all?”

That conversation became really grim really fast. Hans picked up on it too and thought that maybe he started off a wrong foot.

“Aye, once again.” He crouched in front of the snowman. “I don’t want you to get me wrong. I just want to know, so we don’t accidentally hurt you. Yesterday, when Rurik bumped into you and you broke down into three parts, he almost cried, because he was scared he’s just killed you.”

(…)

“He doesn’t need to be afraid, I don’t have anything that can be easily damaged. See?” He grabbed his own head with twig arms and lifted it up.

Hans’ eyes squinted a little.

“Great. And you can’t melt, I presume?”

“I can, but it would take a lot of effort! Elsa took care of it ages ago! Exactly when you… well. She gave me my protective cloud, then.”

The captain took this answer at face value, but also kept investigating.

“And the cookies?”

“Would you like one?”

“No, thank you. If you don’t have anything inside, except for snow, how do you eat?”

“I… don’t know. I just eat.”

“And what’s even more important – do you eat, because you need to, or just for a company? I ask for Egg, he doesn’t know if he should take you into account for our cook.”

“I don’t know.” Olaf shrugged. “I just… when Anna and Elsa eat, I eat too and I like to eat, so…”

Hans finally gave up, acknowledging that the snowman doesn’t even know conditions for his own existence.

“Great. So we will find out once our food stock runs dry.”

I am just starting with Olaf, so I practically drew him while constantly looking on reference pictures.

And I refuse to draw a background, I absolutely can't figure out the perspective.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Hi!! I adore your blog and everything you write, cause it's so wholesome and giving comfort!! I was wondering about your take on this kind of trope between Rocket and the reader (because I can't see anything similar on the internet and I'm biting my walls). But I was thinking about friendly convo with Rocket as a semi new crew member, who's young and maybe more outgoing. Still sarcastic and brave, yet empathetic. And they started to get along, eventually became friends. In my mind it was a late night vibe, maybe something like talking about trauma or just simply comforting. I'm a sucker for anything involving petting him so (👀). Maybe they have something in common, maybe something happened. But some friendly fluff never hurts. I'd love to see your take on this scenario!! I just love your work I'm hoping to see something like that ksjdksjx 🤍🤍

wholesome? are we looking at the same blog lol

dear little sugar cookie sunbeam. you're so sweet and i'm so grateful for this kindness, truly. thank you for your sweet words! i’m so sorry it’s taken so long for me to get around to this. between you and @whitedragoncoranth (who always so kindly sends me adorable raccoon-related videos and little fictions) the two of you have been spinning lovely little thoughts in my head. so this is for the both of you ♡

like, imagine that pete wakes up in the middle of the sleep-shift. there’s something happening in the benetar’s ventilation system, and it doesn’t sound good. a strange sort of pitchy rattle, like something’s come loose. normally pete wouldn’t be the one to notice something like that — rocket’s sensitive hearing would pick up any deviation in the benetar’s normal low murmur long before pete’s “inferior baldbody ears.” but here it is — far too late in the so-called night — and star-lord has noticed something wrong with the ship. and not just any part of the ship — one of the parts most integral to survival in the inhospitable void of space.

so he rises, half-frantic, and goes to find the benetar’s genius creator and resident mechanic.

"goddammit," you mutter, scowling down at the carton of milky-fizz in your hand. normally, you'd be staring out at the stars as they spiraled past: gorgeous glimmering clouds of glitter-dust and refracted light, swirls of color and soft-edged flakes of illumination, haloes and radiant pinpoints — all bright and pulsing against the black jeweler's velvet of an endless sky. tonight, though, you're just pissed, and not even the shimmering specks of a thousand distant suns can ease the cringing ripple of shame prickling up the base of your spine and between your shoulderblades. you hunch your back, trying to shiver it right off your skin.

"hey, kid. what the hell are you doin' out here?"

you pause, shoulders still high under your ears — but when you breathe out, some of your tension goes with it. rocket's an ornery bastard, but he's also your best friend here on the benetar, and if anyone can make you feel better, it's probably him.

not that it had always been that way. your friendship is more or less a recent development. you wouldn’t call yourself new to the crew anymore, but you're definitely the freshest of the guardians family. you'd run into them when they'd stopped back on knowhere after defeating some kind of — god? planet? — and the pilot had clearly not been a fan of further expanding their little crew beyond the recent addition of mantis and, to a lesser extent, kraglin and nebula.

why d'you wanna even do this? he'd sneered. it ain't all fame and fortune.

you'd snorted. fame and fortune? at best, it had seemed the so-called guardians of the galaxy had only earned the suspicious and sometimes-entertained watchfulness of any given band of locals — as if they'd been some troublesome trickster-folkheroes brought to life.

plus, this stupid galaxy's always needing to be saved, rocket had snarked, half-resentfully.

you'd grinned and shrugged. as a matter of fact, i'm here for the job security, you'd only replied, and it had tugged a startled smirk into the corner of his mouth.

"you all right?" he asks now, nearly thirty cycles later.

you sigh. "oh, you know." you wave your carton at the stars behind the armored glass.

rocket snorts. "yeah, i do know," he drawls, one brow winging up. you're not looking at him, so you can't see it — but you can hear it in his voice. "i know exactly what you're doing."

it's your turn to raise an eyebrow. "what am i doing?" you take a swig of your milky-fizz, but rocket doesn't miss a beat.

"beating yourself up for stupid shit."

"ahhhh," you breathe softly into the chill, recycled air. "you would know, then."

"i would," he agrees. "now, c'mon." his hand reaches out and shoves gently at your hip. "you can whine about it while we eat some zargnuts."

you can't help but laugh. after you'd first come aboard, it had only taken a few rotations for the two of you to begin gravitating toward each other. if asked, rocket would have muttered he’d just given you a shot because you’d been the only one who groot seemed to tolerate: mature enough to hold your own with the other guardians, but young enough that rocket's adolescent son somehow — miraculously — hadn’t despised you. luckily for rocket, he'd also quickly learned that you'd been willing to engage in the stupid multi-front prank-wars that he’d had going with almost every other member of the crew. hell, that thing with the frickin’ zargnuts had been your idea — he’d just come up with the tech. the two of you had crept into food storage one rotation, and you’d emptied every bag into jars, then passed each one to rocket. he’d puffed them with air and neatly closed them with the heat-resealing gun he’d crafted as soon as you’d made the suggestion.

drax had been sulky for cycles, and you'd stayed strong, not 'fessing up until mantis had burst into tears after opening her fifteenth empty bag.

still, the majority of the jars of zargnuts are currently residing in the corner of rocket's bunk.

you follow him across the catwalks and down the hatch, passing arched armored-glass windows separating the two of you from the cold void of space. outside the benetar, the galaxy is lit up with spilt-glitter-stars and moons like twinkle-lights. inside, guages and buttons pin the shadows like velvet stage-curtains to the wall, and security orbs stitch them to the edge of the grated floors. most of the other guardians are in bed already, and the narrow corridors are quiet, with only the low hum of the benetar's life support systems echoing a low lullaby. rocket leaps up to tap the sensor that slides open his bunk door, and you throw yourself easily into the pile of cushions in the corner under his hammock. he's one of the lucky bastards with a starboard-side porthole in his bunk, which means the whole little room is softly aglow with the dim blue and mauve haze of stardust. he taps a plasma orb, adding a sheen of gold to the edges of the shadows so that he can dig through his locker more easily, producing a giant, half-eaten jar of zargnuts and sliding it across the thin, faded rug toward you.

"dig in," he orders, and you do — unscrewing the lid and reaching in to pull out a couple of the bite-sized snacks. "you wanna tell me what's got you all knotted up?" he adds casually, tapping the datapad he's got docked on his workbench. some song he's cloned from pete's zune drifts out, melancholy and mellow, across darkness.

"is that california dreamin'?" you ask incredulously.

he listens for a beat, till the chorus hits. "sounds like it," he replies with a shrug, "but you're not gettin' outta answering me, kid."

you sigh and take another sip of your milky-fizz . it goes surprisingly well with the zargnuts. "i almost got pete killed today."

rocket snorts. "what?"

"when that symbiote attacked him, i should've switched over to the disresonator blaster you made, and instead i just sh-shot at it with the rotary cannon and i almost—"

"kid," rocket interrupts, sounding exasperated. "you been in how many fights like this? m'not talking about threatening some jerk with your quadblaster, i mean actually fighting a dozen corrupted klyntar, or some high-powered alien despot, or whatever."

"i dunno," you say dismally. "however many there've been since i started with you guys."

"and this is your first mistake," he reminds you. "and it wasn't even that stupid."

you roll your eyes. "thanks ever so."

"seriously," he says, grabbing another handful of zargnuts. "you know, our second fight was because drax decided to call up the kree accuser we were running from and give 'im our coordinates."

you pause with your milky-fizz halfway to your mouth. "what?"

rocket snickers. "and that jackass is like, old enough to be your dad. at least. he's supposably been fighting way longer." he pauses. "though he did get caught and thrown in the kyln so maybe he was always an idiot about it. what i'm saying is, you don't gotta beat yourself up for doing one stupid thing."

you look at him solemnly, taking in the way the plasma orb gilds the strands of gunmetal and brass in his fur, and the halo of mint-green and rose and purple as you drift past a rainbow-hued nebula.

"what about you?" you ask. the quiet shadows pool around the two of you, cool and just heavy enough to press any anxiety out of your lungs. that's how it always is on these nights with rocket, you think. usually the two of you are on the flightdeck, drinking some of drax's kylosian coffee while rocket flies till you fall asleep — but sometimes you hole up in his bunk or yours, listening to music and telling stories and cracking jokes until one or both of you passed out.

"what about me?"

you wrap the shadows and the starlight around yourself and finish off the milky fizz, setting the plastic carton carefully to one side. "you beat yourself up all the time."

he sighs. "that's different."

"howso?" you challenge, but he slants you a look that glints like red spinels and rubies in the stray starlight, and you know you're not gonna get an answer. you hum a faintly disgruntled, half-playful note. "you know what would make me feel better?"

"no."

you grin, and reach out toward him with both hands, palm-down, rubbing your fingers and thumbs together.

"absolutely frickin' not."

"please?"

"you're annoying."

your fingers don't stop. "you don't have to pretend like you don't like it," you tease him. "i had a friend back on terra—"

he snorts. "you had a friend?"

you pout. "don't be a jackass." you flex your fingers in a grabby motion. "i had a friend on terra and she use to tell me — you know, you are allowed to let yourself enjoy nice things."

he snorts. "oh yeah? and what’d you say to that?"

your grin splits wide. "probably the same thing you’re gonna say to me," you admit with a dip of your head. another gold galaxy swirls slowly past, limning everything: platinum and bronze and sunset edges, melting against the dark violet-blue.

he wings one brow upward. "what’s that?"

you can’t stop the chuckle riding under your ribs. "sounds fake, but okay."

he snickers. "well, you're not wrong."

"c'mon," you wheedle, not letting him out of it that easily. you flex your fingers again, and rub the tips together like you're testing the velvet quality of the shadows, or the fading strains of california dreamin' as they melt into time after time. "please? for me, rocket?"

he raises his brow again, rolling his eyes. they're deep amethysts in the darkness, but every time he moves them, they throw back glimmers of almandine and garnet.

"sounds fake," he mocks, "but okay." he slides across the cushions. "and watch the tail this time. don't need your frickin' elbow leaning on it again."

you fake-scowl. "that was one time," you sulk, winding your arms around him and pulling him in close so you can burrow your fingers into the thick velvet pile of his ears. he immediately cocks his head like he's been secretly waiting for it all night, leaning into the little massage at the base of the twitching appendages. his head his heavy and weighted against your hands, alternating side to side as he tries to push into the pressure of your touch. you'd never point it out to him, of course; he'd stop immediately, you're sure. and you weren't lying — it does make you feel better. millennia of evolution have contributed to this one perfect element of the terran human condition, you suppose: the release of endorphins whenever you get a cuddly animal's fur under your fingertips and palms.

you ease your hands down, stroking long lines over the back of his head, burying your fingers in the fur at the base of his skull and around his shoulders, weaving them into his lush, soft undercoat. it becomes mindless, meditative: his fur gleaming thread by soft thread in the starlight, the hypnotic lullaby of the moons and suns and planets rolling by like round, loose beryls and pearls, the sparkling haze of cosmic dust spilling past the porthole. the music shifting through the dark shadows and puddling in the little pools of light, weaving in between each strand of rocket's fur and the soft valleys between your fingers: fleetwood mac and bowie and kate bush and joy division, all layered into the darkness and the sprinkle of lights — the spray of glitter, the haloed glow; the quiet of your breath and rocket's; the pulse of your shared heartbeats; the sleepy tug of your eyelids. the knowledge that he knows you well enough to recognize when you're ragged at the edges, and the eagerness to help patch you up with zargnuts and music and stories about drax; the knowledge that you'd do the same no matter what. the warmth of him under your hands, his body going relaxed and heavy under your arms, the soft brush of his fur under your chin.

the knowledge that in all of the wide universe, you always have a home with each other.

something rumbles against your belly, where his chest is leaned up against you, and your hands stroke over his back. it's rare that he purrs, and usually brief: but this time he lets it happen, and it grows. the rapid, deep-rooted clicking, like a dark-velvet chirp that never ends, rolls up from his body and into your hands like a gift passed from him to you. it shivers out into the air, tumbling and rippling through the silk shadows, blending with the music, flickering against everything in the tiny room and echoing softly, rebounding, shimmering. you lose yourself in the pattern of it, matched to his inhalations and exhalations. matched to yours. you're drifting into it like an incoming tide, moonlit and starstruck, little waves that lap and tap against your heart and your brain until you begin to doze off while your fingers trace deep little forest-paths into his fur, taking and offering comfort as easily as breathing, as easily as the gentle thump of your hearts against each other. you lose time like that: lost in the sounds of him and the music, lost in the deep blue, the aubergine, the glimmering in and out. you don't so much as stir until there's a thump in the corridor, and then against the frame of the door—

you jolt awake, blinking blearily, and rocket's already torn himself out of your arms and off the cushions as the door slides open.

"what the fuck, quill? i coulda been — i dunno, doing something—"

"there's a problem with the vent system," pete rushes out, sounding nervous and frantic. "i don't know how long it's been going on but there's like a — a rattling, rumbling noise—"

"shut up," rocket snaps, one dark hand extended toward pete in a halting motion, and you freeze as the three of you go still and quiet.

the vents cycle on, hushed and gentle as a breeze in a field of wheat.

you wait.

"i don't frickin' hear anything," rocket growls.

"i don't—" pete starts, looking baffled and almost betrayed by the functioning ventilation system. "it was—"

"what'd it sound like?" you pipe up from the corner, and pete's brows furrow when they focus on you.

"like a kind of a... brrrrrrrrrh," he mimicks, rolling his tongue off the rough of his mouth in a guttural purr.

your eyes go wide, and then shoot over to rocket's. your friend's face is a picture in absolute horror.

"uh," you start, the corners of your mouth twitching as you try to hold back a sudden cackle.

"it's nothing, pete," rocket snaps. "you're imagining shit."

"but—"

"go back to bed!" rocket half-roars, and pete takes one last bewildered glance at the air vents before slinking out the door.

rocket slaps the sensor panel and whirls on you, one claw extended.

"not a fuckin' word," he snarls.

you say nothing. you only smile — eyes sparkling — and reach for him with both hands: palms down, fingertips rubbing against thumbs in a silent demand for more pets.

headcanons & imagines masterlist

[bomberqueen17]

backsplash

ok so after they put the countertops in, it was time to tile the backsplash, and install the last cabinet, which rests on top of the counter in the corner.

"I don't remember what color tile we picked," I said.

Jim laughed, and got one of the tiles out, and laid it on the counter.

"Oh," I said, "right. Yeah."

[image description: a white tile. It's a white tile. Lying on the new white countertop.]

In my defense. It's a glossy white subway tile, but it matches the white in the countertop, and it also has a subtle undulating texture.

They covered the countertops with a dropcloth and taped-down thin cardboard (just like the taped-down cardboard they've covered the floor with since it was installed), brought in a tile saw, and set to work.

[image description: my in-progress kitchen, with a Ridgid brand tile saw set up on a plastic tray on the new counter in front of the bay window, and tools spread out across the rest of the counter. Max is laying out tile along the north wall, and the foreground is my stove, covered in a towel, being a surface for tools to lie on.]

Max found the center line of where the stove is going to be installed, and spaced the tiles based on that. I figured they'd start at one end and work over but no! They start from a center line and work out. The tile is going to the ceiling above the stove, so that was their center line, even though it's not anywhere near the middle of the wall.

[Image description: Max is bent over facing away, and has just placed the first tile in the center of a piece of trim mounted behind where the stove is going to go, after covering the whole wall in whatever the stuff is that you stick tiles to. Above him is the square of plywood that the stove fume hood is going to get mounted into.]

Meanwhile, Jim had retrieved the last remaining cupboard from the living room. It is meant to rest atop the countertop, over in the corner. The electrician had accidentally installed an outlet in that corner, and when he discovered his mistake, Jim suggested just leaving it there anyway and cutting a hole in the back of the cabinet to accomodate it. So I said sure, and now Jim was slightly moving the outlet to fit, and then sawing the hole out of the back of the cabinet. He got it all nicely lined up, and then he and Max went to lift the cabinet up onto the countertop and there wasn't clearance, so he had to uninstall the LED light fixture there. Which was fantastic, as now I know how they go in and how they come out, and he also showed me that there's a set of switches in there-- if I want, I can pull all six of them out and change their intensity and color temperature, because there are five total settings! Wild. Now I know!

Anyway he got the cabinet into position and attached it and installed the outlet, which was pretty cool.

[image description: The north wall of my kitchen. On the left, Max is tiling; in the center, there's a pyramid shape of the tiling in progress, where he's done a line all along the bottom where the stove will sit, and then has worked up from there. To the right, a sunbeam is coming in the bay window and illuminating the glorious warm-birch interior of the cupboard, which doesn't have doors on at the moment, and in its lower right corner it has an electrical outlet nestled in position just above the bottom drawer.]

I'm going to make a lil basket of some kind (possibly with a grid bottom for air flow? or maybe i'll just use a wire basket to begin with?) along which I'm going to clamp a bunch of Managed Cables with a variety of ends on them so I can throw Devices in there to be Charged, neatly and out of sight. Temperature management is going to be important though, lithium batteries get warm when they charge, so i'm going to have to give that some consideration. I wonder if I can construct some sort of heat sink. Well, I won't have too many things in there probably, so it won't be critical. Maybe I'll get a spare like, wire cookie cooling rack and have that be the surface the charging items lie on.

[Image description: A close shot along the north wall, showing the textured surface of the tiles. There are little plastic spacers at short intervals sticking out of them, and an outlet is sort of poking out of the wall with the faceplate off; tools lie on the cardboard-covered countertop, and in the center of the photo is the blue-gray side of the cabinet installed against the east wall.]

It suddenly has gone from a construction site to looking like a kitchen that like, tasteful, normal adult people would have.

[image description: a text message from Dude, to whom I'd been sending photos. Dude: it's starting to look like a regular person's kitchen me: It suuuuper is Dude: gonna have to find some way to get weird with it me: Well. Yeah.]